Bed time story
by StillHaddicted
Summary: Ideally, season 7. Can House and Cuddy be together, without being together? Kind of a "what if the event of Bombshells as we've seen them didn't take place?


_I had a nostalgic attack about House and Huddy, and I dig out of my stash of written stuff this little one shot. Despite the unusual setting, I do see this one as a celebration of the way House loved Cuddy, and a different take on what brought their relationship to an end._

_Hope you'll enjoy it!_

* * *

Pushing open the cafeteria's door, Wilson checked his watch then looked at the items in his hands and opted for the stairs. He had time, he liked his coffee not too hot and there was no risk for the sandwich to get cold. A few more steps would have been a fair way to postpone his arrival upstairs, and gain him sometime. He wasn't eager to get there, the first couple of times he had been pleasantly taken aback by what he had heard, almost happy despite the odd surprise. But once the novelty had gone, he had just realized how wrong it was for him to even know about it. It was intimate, it was deeply private, and he had stopped being around despite having being told it didn't matter.

He met nobody on the stairs, and climbed till the fifth floor a little bit out of breath. Wilson stepped in the hallway, and as it had happened in the last weeks the sombre atmosphere of the whole floor hit him. Silence, not unusual, yet too deep even for a hospital. You expect silence from sick people, they're tired and depressed, more often than one might think they're alone, so that wasn't hard to explain. But the quietness in that case came from all over the place, from the staff working and walking all around, and that was what bothered him. Yes, there might had been some form of respect on the plate too, for sure, but Wilson was no fool. Being a doctor, an oncologist above all, he knew exactly that kind of silence was the saddest one you could have in a hospital.

The one coming from desperation.

The low volumes of useless television turned on, the empty beep of monitors and the regular sounds of respirators: the dominating silence allowed him to hear the one thing he'd been hoping to avoid. The oncologist slowed down, he passed by a couple of nurses who were smiling for the mumbled voice coming from the last room, he smiled back and nodded then stopped when reached the room. Almost reached, to be honest. He couldn't resist the temptation, and as silent as he could he stood near the open door, his back on the wall and his ears focused on the voice coming from inside.

"…and then you figure it out, all on your own because you're such a smartass. All those things you've been dreaming about us, you just knew they should mean something and all of sudden everything triggers together, you solve your puzzle. Not that I made it hard for you anyway, I wasn't even there with you when you were back from the hospital…"

From his position, Wilson clenched his jaw, thoughtful, the small smile on his face freezing a little, then he sighed and shook his head. _He really can't help it, not even pretend,_ he thought, a bitter sweet taste in the back of his mouth, remembering all of sudden why he wasn't supposed to listen to that.

"When you come to my place…I'm almost cute you know, with this happy and surprised expression I have, like "oh my little minx couldn't stay away from me" but then bang! You go straight to the point and tell me I took Vicodin, that I wasn't able to just be there for you on my own. And I'm standing there, out of words like just you can make feel, scared to death as you line up words, building my worst nightmare…and you're right."

Careless of the consequences Wilson poked his head to watch, for once blessing the glass walls of the hospital. He had to, because for the first time since House had started that - his daily story telling - had never gone so far to move his own voice to crack up in tears. Careful, the oncologist looked inside. House was sitting on the stool as always, but that day he had brought it closer to the bed, close enough to reach for Cuddy's hand as he went on speaking.

"What kind of man am I? I can't even be there for the woman I love, if not artificially, apparently even lose you isn't enough to move me. You have a daughter, you need to know someone would take care of her if something happens to you, someone you love…I try to stop you," House said, his voice cracking a little and Wilson saw his hand squeeze Cuddy's one fiercely, causing no reaction at all, as always. "You don't really think I'd let you go without a fight, don't you? I beg you, I promise, but it's too late. You touch my face, I still have your hand on my chest when you leave, right here," he moved her hand to his chest, right on his heart. "Like a burning mark on my skin," he chuckled sadly, shaking his head as he stood up from the stool. "Next part tomorrow. I have to keep you hooked, don't I?"

As he said that, teasingly, House caressed Cuddy's immobile hand and leaned down on her sleeping face, as usual dribbling the tube coming out of her mouth to leave a light kiss on her cheek. He pulled back slowly. He hated that moment, leave her made him feel like he was abandoning her, and above all every time he left with the insane fear she would have refused to wake up without him around. Or even worst, that she would have chosen a moment he wasn't there with her to do it, just to screw with him.

Three months and nothing on earth would have changed his mind about that.

No medical record, no expert opinion, no tests. Lisa Cuddy was a fighter, no coma could keep her knocked down for long.

Sighing, he traced a gentle line on her cheek with his hand, then finally left the room not too surprised to find Wilson out there. Ignoring his friend's questioning gaze, House took from his hand the bag with his Reuben, then headed to the elevator followed by Wilson. None of them said anything as they made their way to the roof, the place that had become his lunch spot since nobody came to bother him. He looked tired that day, more tired than any other day, and he was as mute as he had ever been after his story time with Cuddy, which after all was coherent with what House had just told her. That of course didn't meant it could explain it, and Wilson couldn't resist from asking.

"Why?" The oncologist asked, sitting on the bulwark as House swallowed down the last bite of his sandwich, shrugging at his friend's questioning look. "I mean, everything was,…going fine, you had some troubles, you were working out your issues-"

He wasn't ashamed to ask, after all it wasn't a secret he'd been listening, so why hide it? It didn't feel wrong, but on the other hand it was indeed somewhat odd to question him about things that had never happened. Something House should have been thinking too, judging by the gaze he gave to his friend, needing to know if the oncologist was really serious about that.

"Your fault," Wilson muttered in response, giving House a bitter smile. "You're quite a good story teller."

He was indeed. For being someone who sucked when it came to be there for people in the time of need, House had found a pretty good pace. Since from the day of the incident, he'd been there at Cuddy's side not missing a day, filling with his presence not just her room but the whole floor. Not only that, he had kept it alive following a simple yet true assumption. House had picked up the habit to talk to Cuddy, trusting in the fact if he'd believed hard enough talking to people in coma could help, the recovery it might have actually worked. Every day he showed up at her side, sometimes he just sat there speaking or closer, holding her hand and whispering, or every now and then he was so caught up in his own story he paced the room upside down as if he was acting. Since it was House, and not just anybody else, he had of course exaggerated. He wasn't just there to keep Cuddy a good, and hopefully useful company, but of all the things he could have chosen to tell her he had ended up narrating a story.

Their story.

The one they haven't got the chance to live for real, a story House had masterly built starting with the few elements he had. The moment they've found each other again thanks to Hanna, the few weeks they've had to explore their relationship…and of course those 20 something years they've known and fought each other, smelling the other one like dubious dogs.

Wilson could understand that. By telling that story, House was trying to achieve more than one goal. Cope with a potential loss he would have never accepted, honestly and stubbornly working his way to drag Cuddy out of her coma, and partly delude himself like he had never done before, living the dream of his live with Cuddy one way or the other. House had the chance to give himself and Cuddy what they haven't had, what a stupid incident had taken away from them, and until then he had taken plain advantage of it. He had kept it fair throwing stones, traps and logs on their way unable to picture, not even in his mind, a perfect and smooth love story. But he had also used it to make them stronger, gain something after every battle. His own struggles to be a couple man, the interaction with younger and elder Cuddy, the delicate equilibrium at work. He had explored almost everything that could have milled their love, yet using those issues as tools to reinforce it.

But that, the last episode he had delivered…

"Because love isn't fair Wilson," House finally said, a low whisper loaded with so much pain and sorrow the oncologist immediately regretted his curiosity. "Who knows, sooner or later," he said again, inhaling a sharp breath in and averting his eyes to hide a lonely tear. "Love isn't fair…"

THE END


End file.
